


Always

by fearless_beggar



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_beggar/pseuds/fearless_beggar
Summary: "I heard on the news, they're saying working in the COVID unit is like being in a warzone," Nic traces her fingers over the tattoo on his chest, "But I've never been in a warzone."
Relationships: Conrad Hawkins/Nicolette Nevin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble I wrote to get myself in an angst headspace after writing a lot of fluff lately, figured I would publish as I crave validation.

They’re beyond exhausted after a triple (quadruple? If quadruple was a thing) shift. Nic barely remembers the drive home, somehow managing to get them from point A to B without falling asleep at the wheel. Conrad insists they eat, their last few meals consisted of granola bars hurriedly eaten in closets before the careful re-application of PPE. Dinner tastes like paper, but they eat every bite in heavy silence, each too lost in their own thoughts to offer any sort of conversation. 

But when they finally, mercifully climb into bed, sleep doesn’t come. Nic lays on her side, staring at the wall. 

“Nic?” Conrad puts a tentative hand on her waist. Nic shifts, moving closer to him so he can wrap his arms around her, he pushes his face into the back of her neck and presses his lips there. 

“I can’t stop thinking about Hundley,” Nic says quietly, “I’ve been running the floor for days, more exposed than her. It should be me.”

“No,” Conrad tightens his arms around her, as if to force the image of Nic on a vent out of his head, “Don’t even say that Nic.” 

“I lost two,” Nic continues as if he didn’t speak, “How many did you lose?” 

“Nic-”

“How many, Conrad?”

“Three.” 

Nic turns to face him, bringing her hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb over his temple and soothing the deep worry lines that had become permanent fixtures on his handsome face. 

“I heard on the news, they’re saying working in the COVID unit is like being in a warzone,” Nic traces her fingers over the tattoo on his chest, “But I’ve never been in a warzone.”   


“It’s a fair comparison,” Conrad replies, “But in some ways, it’s worse. In Afghanistan I didn’t have the most important person in my life there with me.” He’s quiet for a moment, pulling her closer. He buries his face in her hair. She smells vaguely like hospital antiseptic, but underneath it he can smell her shampoo; something citrus and quintessentially Nic. He can feel her breathing against him, steady and unhindered, “Sometimes I want to lock you in this room.” 

She doesn’t reply, just holds him close, her cheek against his chest. She can hear his heart beating, feel the steady rise and fall of his chest; the air moving in and out of his lungs as it’s meant to do. He’s  _ breathing,  _ what a gift. She’ll never take it for granted again. 

“Don’t be a hero,” Conrad shifts to his back, Nic props herself up on his chest, “I know you will want to. Don’t do it. I’m selfish - I need you. I need to know that at the end of all of this, I’ll still have you.” She takes his face in her hands, “Please, for once, be selfish Conrad. Promise me that I’ll still get to marry you. I don’t care about a big wedding or a fancy dress or honeymoon or any of that. We can go to the courthouse for all I care. I just need you.” 

“I promise,” He means it, he wouldn’t lie to her about this. His hand goes to the chain around her neck, holding her engagement ring, a temporary solution to the constant handwashing and glove wearing, “We’re having a wedding. All our friends will be there, and you’re going to wear a beautiful dress and I’ll just about lose my mind when I see your father walk you down the aisle.” He strokes her cheek, her skin slightly reddened and irritated from the N95s they wear for hours at a time, “But, no matter what happens, I want you to know as far as I’m concerned, you’re my wife. I don’t need a ceremony or a judge or even a piece of paper to make it official. None of that matters. What matters is I love you and we’re going to grow old together and we’re going to sit on the porch when we’re eighty five and you will kick my ass in bridge.” 

“I love you too,” Nic says, “Even when we’re old and gray and grumpy; I’m still going to love you.” Nic tilts her head, looking at the hand over his chest, “I have your heart, and you have mine.”

“Always,” That’s what he’s fighting for, what keeps him going through the endless shifts and heartache and stress and exhaustion. But he’ll keep going, keep fighting for always with her. 

**Author's Note:**

> One week until the premiere! So excited.


End file.
